The Totally Righteous Bro
by biggaybabadook
Summary: A young paladin wants to bring peace to a world on fire. Luckily, he is far from alone in his struggle.
1. Great Balls of Felfire!

He was forgetting something. Not like he could do much about it at this point, though. All of Stormwind's paladins who hadn't yet been dispatched to fight the Legion were assigned to patrol the streets, bringing calm to the tense populace. They were all dolled up in knight's regalia, which, ironically, was all bright golds and blues. Everyone else in the city-state who could afford the black mourner's attire had donned it.

Hair neatly combed back under his helmet, Horace watched grieving citizens file to and from the keep. Inside, he knew, was the casket of Varian Wrynn, High King of the Alliance. Former king now, since, by the end of midday, he would be officially succeeded. He couldn't imagine what the new ruler was feeling at the moment. An entire world on fire, a father dead, and now excessive amounts of power dumped on his shoulders without warning. Hopefully the Horde would pipe down long enough for the Alliance to process that.

Next to Horace rode his mentor, Sir Arthur the Faithful, grim in his duty. Neither had spoken all day; this was not the time to whisper worriedly like a couple of salty old fishermen. He saw children shaking in fear as they hid behind their mother's skirts, prompting him to thank the Light for not having to endure this when he was young.

They stopped outside the orphanage when a young girl ran up to them and grabbed the hem of Horace's cloak. Her big brown eyes stared up at him wetly in the mid-morning sun. She was clearly seeking something, anything, to comfort her. From the sanctuary's threshold, the matron mother called for her, but it fell on deaf ears.

At a loss for words, he reverted back to the standard greeting, "Blessings of the Light to you, child." It was a pitiful offering at best, but what could he tell her? That the Burning Legion wasn't really coming? Anyone who looked at the horizon these days could see that that was a lie.

Beside him, Sir Arthur dismounted, passing the reins to his squire. To Horace's surprise, he removed his helmet, cradling it in one hand while the other came to rest on her shoulder as he knelt. "Do not fear," he told her, managing a small smile. "By the Light's grace, we shall overcome." Moving from her shoulder, his hand swept across her forehead, a shimmer of holy power trailing it.

The little girl gasped, wide-eyed wonder mixing with her fear. Meeting the knight's eyes once more, she nodded, then scrambled back inside the safety of the orphanage. The matron mother waved at them.

Behind the slits in his helmet, the young paladin was beaming with pride for his mentor. The man was everything he aspired to be: strong, compassionate, and just. He inspired Horace, motivated him to be better, try harder.

Just as they had resumed their route, a messenger galloped up to deliver summons to the Keep's war room. The coronation had been performed, but had skirted around all the pomp and circumstance that usually mired the event as information of new attacks poured in. Everyone of officer rank was to report in for further instructions.

Horace's heart was practically pounding out of his chest. This was really happening, then. He was going to war. He searched his mentor's face for any of that reassurance from earlier, and found it blank. In the back of his mind he wondered if the man was also afraid.

"Ser Arthur reporting for duty," the paladin barked as soon as his name was called. Horace stood at attention behind the superiors, pressed up against the wall with the other squires. He was one of the older squires, having just reached adulthood; a good chunk of them were barely into their teens. Stalwart resolution held them still, even if their insides were jelly.

Horace listened to the briefing intently, his heart fluttering as the new invasion points were listed off. It nearly stopped altogether when he heard, "Westfall."

No. No no no no no. His whole family was there. How fast could he feasibly reach the farm? The Saldean's land was fairly close to the Elwynn Forest, but if he took a gryphon from Stormwind he could fly over the mountains and cut travel time in half and _what was he thinking?_ He couldn't just up and leave to go face a horde of demons by himself. There would be knights dispatched to Westfall, and they would ensure his family would make it. Taking a deep breath, he tuned back into the conversation.

"... but our main focus is Sentinel Hill. We cannot afford to lose such a vital outpost-"

Screw it, he had to say something. "Sir!" He made sure to salute, though at this point it didn't matter. "What about the civilians? They need to be evacuated."

Sir Arthur fixed him with a withering look that nearly made him back down. The whole room was staring at him, including Commander Shadowbreaker. Then it hit him that he had forgotten his vocal augment. His voice sounded so grossly feminine and _ugh_ , every person in the room had heard it.

Commander Shadowbreaker cleared his throat, visibly irritated at being interrupted. "If civilians can make their way out of Westfall, then they will. Between the tragedy at the Broken Shore, and the departure of the bulk of our forces, we have no one to spare for an escort. Knights and gryphon riders have already been set to patrol the area, and will find any stragglers. It is in the Light's hands now."

Rage boiled up in his gut. "No!" he shouted. " _We_ are the Light's hands, and those people will die if we don't act."

Sir Arthur hissed, "Enough, boy!" but was ignored.

"You can't run off to rescue people who may not even be alive!" Shadowbreaker insisted. "Now stand down!"

"No." He tensed his muscles, ready to make a break for the door. "No matter the chances, there is never anyone under the Light who is not worth trying to save." And so he ran. He barely avoided smacking face-first into a tall, blond-haired young man about his age who was standing in the doorway. It took him a few seconds to register that holy crap, that was the new king he'd nearly mowed over. How embarrassing.

Armor? Check. Sword and shield? Check. Now all he needed was a gryphon. Horace never had much of a penchant for stealing-his mother had always, without fail, caught him right before he filched an extra treat from the cookie jar. How he was going to manage stealing an eight hundred pound bird with four legs was beyond him, so he decided to simply ask for one. The stable masters eyed him suspiciously as he came barrelling up the ramp.

"Please, I need a gryphon," he panted. "It's urgent."

The dwarven woman sized him up, folding her arms across her chest. "Prove it, girlie."

He made a frustrated noise, both at having no proof and for being called _that_. In what was a desperate and completely stupid move he blinded the three keepers with a flash of Light. By the time the spell wore off, he had mounted an armored gryphon and taken to the skies, yelling over his shoulder, "I'm not a girl!"

Heading south and west, the journey took about two hours, as opposed to six on horseback. Flying so fast and without protective goggles made his eyes burn and water incessantly. It was the longest trip of his life, fear for his family's safety a heavy weight in his heart. He didn't come across any refugee caravans as he flew by the border between Elwynn and Westfall.

The sky had grown dark from smoke. In the distance, he could see massive, arching gateways with demons pouring out, and began to wonder if maybe he should have thought this through more. It was too late to do much about it, however, plus he needed to save his family, no matter what. Yet had he paused even for a split second to glance behind him during his flight, he would have seen he was not alone in his quest.

The proto-drake was the first to catch up, its big blue maw slightly agape to vent the frostfire inside it. On its back were two very familiar faces. "Saskia, Natalie!" he cried. Despite his words being lost to the wind, they waved at him. His mount shied away from Saskia's scaly friend-Darcy? Darbie? He wasn't quite sure-who probably saw the bird as a snack.

Another gryphon flew up alongside him, this one bearing a very angry-looking Sir Arthur the Faithful. Horace pumped his fist into the air, so relieved he could cry. Now, he at least stood a chance of making it out alive.

They followed Horace's lead, swooping down toward the Saldean farm. Or, what remained of it, anyways. The field burned, all that dry grass and dead earth becoming perfect kindling. In the midst of it all, a gateway had emerged from the earth. Its dark, twisted spires reached up towards the heavens as eredar worked to power the portal it contained. At the front of the house, demons were closing in. Fending them off was the bulk of the adult workers, armed with whatever they had, which was mostly pitchforks and hammers.

Horace's gryphon shrieked as they came in to land, raking its talons down the back of a felguard. Green blood erupted from the hulking beast's wounds as it spun around, lashing out at its attackers. Together they dove to avoid the blade, then rushed towards its legs, hoping to bring it to its knees so he could make the killing blow. Darcy got to it first, taking its tiny head clean off with one side-long bite. The drake spat it out as the rest of the body toppled, using frostfire to burn away any tainted blood in his mouth.

The young paladin went next to the imps surrounding the defending farmers. Shield raised, he thrust his sword forward, piercing one imp in the stomach. Another shot at him with a blast of felfire; he shut his eyes and let the Light suffuse him so that the flames washed harmlessly over his body. He used the remaining time before the spell ended to fight the third imp, parrying a swipe of its jagged claws. Ducking under its arms, he bashed the fiend with his shield and sliced it open while it staggered back.

"Horace!" He whirled around to find his mother and father running up to embrace him.

"Oh, my baby, you're alright," Emma Lin crooned, kissing one of the few clean spots on his helmet. "We heard about the Broken Shore-we were so worried you were with them."

"I'm alright, mom; my friends and I are going to get you out of here." Wiping his sword clean with his cloak, he asked, "Where is everyone else?" There was a disquieting lack of homeless people.

"Inside the house," Feng Lin replied.

Natalie, Saskia, and Sir Arthur had hacked their way over to the Lin family, their mounts not far behind. The tide of demons had slowed for the time being, but it wouldn't be long before the next wave hit. All of them were bruised and filthy, but otherwise unharmed.

"Can you create a portal to Stormwind?" Horace asked Natalie.

The mage nodded. "I can't maintain it for long, though."

"It'll have to do. Go inside the house, it's the safest place to-" Feng never got to finish his sentence as an infernal, hurtling down to the ground, took out the roof of the two-story structure. Those who had been staying there came out screaming in fright. "Nevermind." He raised his voice. "Stay put! We will protect you!"

Sweat beading on her brow, Natalie began to summon the portal. Meanwhile, Saskia was keeping the civilians in place, using Darcy as mean, hungry-looking coercion in case someone tried to bolt.

The infernal towered above the farmstead, its massive feet making craters in the earth with each step. Sir Arthur led the charge against it, Horace right by his side. It roared, kicking at the oncoming attackers. Arthur's hammer smashed into one foot, sending bits of flaming rock in all directions. Just like before with the felguard, they went for the legs first. With all their combined might, it still wasn't enough.

That was when the druids came in. There were three of them, swooping down as owls before two assumed the form of a bear, and one returned to its night elf body. The spellcaster let out a cry, beckoning the earth to aid her. Roots shot out from the ground, slithering up the demon's leg to pull it over. Meanwhile, the bear druids raked deep gashes into its rocky flesh. Horace let loose a battle cry as it was forced down, dashing towards the head to sever it.

It was a poor choice, to say the least. The hand of the infernal hit his sword arm as he swung the blade, yanking it forward and taking the armor clean off. All that remained was a nasty burn on his exposed skin. Not even his chainmail undershirt stopped the flames from searing into the flesh. While-hot pain lanced through him, a scream of agony escaping his lips.

Sir Arthur replaced him as executioner, his father catching him as he staggered. He struggled to breath normally as he was half-walked, half-carried to the portal Natalie was pouring every ounce of her mana into. They were the last to go through, with Natalie dashing in behind them and sealing the passage shut.

Their destination ended up being the top floor of the Mage Tower. Horace saw Saskia taking care of her exhausted girlfriend, handing her water and holding her so she could sit up. Crammed into the corner were Darcy and the two gryphons, who would have one hell of a time getting out of there. The druids were absent from the scene; Horace could only hope that they had simply gone on to fight more demons.

He grit his teeth and whimpered as Sir Arthur tried to use the Light to mend his arm. After a minute with no progress, the man gave a frustrated sigh. "I'm a fighter, not a healer. He needs a priest." Standing, he helped to lift Horace onto his feet again. It was a long, slow walk to the Cathedral, with many shaken refugees following. They needed the solace of the Light's presence after what they had been through. He was laid out flat on his back for the priest, whom he recognized as Brother Sarno, to tend to him. The healing stung just as badly, making him tremble, yet he managed to stay silent. Real men didn't made a peep when they were wounded. On top of that, he still didn't have his vocal augment, so each sound was high-pitched and very much _not_ him.

Though most of the burned area mended well under the Light's touch, a bandage was wrapped around it to protect what needed to be left to his body to manage. The whole ordeal rendered him so exhausted he couldn't bring himself to move at all, his almond eyes growing bleary. Not long after he was helped out of his armor and wrapped up in a warm blanket, he was slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. Funeral Arrangements

He was roused by his mother running her fingers through his raven hair. Emma smiled at him, continuing the soothing gesture. "How is my brave young man feeling?"

Returning the smile with his own sloppy grin, he replied, "Much better."

"I'm glad to hear it. Your father and sisters will be, as well, and Sir Arthur."

The name made his stomach twinge. "Is he mad at me?"

"Protocol states that you are in a whole heap of trouble, but no; not as mad as I could be, anyhow." That was the man himself, kneeling next to his cot with a small burlap bag, which he placed on the ground. "Here are some things I'm sure you're wanting for. The priests will be serving everyone breakfast soon."

"You are too kind," Emma said.

Horace wriggled upright to examine the bag's contents. There was the vocal augment, a a little crystal attached to a small chain. He immediately put that on with a hum and ah, yes, that was better. Much more like him. "Thank you, sir." The binder would wait until he knew if he would be in armor or not, since that did roughly the same job. He swallowed thickly, scratching the back of his head. "I'm… sorry. I shouldn't have ran off like that."

A chuckle came from his mentor; an unexpected reaction, to say the least. "You ended up saving two dozen civilians and gave them hope they did not have before. That is apology enough for me. Commander Shadowbreaker will undoubtedly feel different."

The moment was interrupted by a certain ginger rogue strolling up. " _You_ have an admirer," Saskia announced. She handed him an envelope, a mischievous look on her face while she watched him open it. "Pretty great, huh? Just make sure you take a bath beforehand; you still smell like brimstone."

Luckily, he was able to head back to the paladin's barracks after breakfast. The place was virtually deserted, so he took his time scrubbing away the filth that had been crusting over all night. Saskia had gifted him with a bar of sandalwood soap because, according to her, plain soap smelled gross and he deserved better.

Just as the invitation requested, he showed up at the Stormwind Keep's gardens just before noon. He felt reborn with his clean clothes and skin. She'd been right about the soap smelling better; it even made him feel a little fancy. Waiting around frayed his nerves, especially since he did not know what to expect. He found himself fidgeting, glancing around every few seconds. The guards seemed to take no notice of his predicament. Even if they did, it wouldn't show through their helmets. Chances were, they would tell their friends and laugh about it at the tavern later on.

He finally appeared after what seemed to be an eternity. "My apologies. The meeting went longer than expected." Shaking Horace's hand, he added, "It is a pleasure to meet you officially, Sir Lin."

Horace could feel himself blushing. "T-the pleasure is all mine." Was that the right thing to say? He had no idea if he was being too informal.

"I must admit, seeing you take such action at the risk of your career and your life was… inspiring," Anduin told him, letting slip a lop-sided, sunny smile. "Please, join me."

The two went to what was apparently called "the drawing room." Already there were Saskia and Natalie, because of course they were there. He still had yet to come across a reason why Saskia, the weapon's smuggler, was even allowed near royalty, but he did appreciate both of them being there. It would keep things from getting awkward. On the other hand, he liked that brief moment where he had the full attention of a very attractive man. He was given a cup of what he thought at first was wine, but turned out to be moonberry juice. It was cold, lightly sweet, and, thankfully, non-alcoholic.

"Saskia filled me in on the events in Westfall," Anduin prompted. He had a bright, hopeful sort of look on his face. Or maybe Horace was just imagining it.

"Yeah, he was pretty badass," Saskia said around a mouthful of jam-covered bread. "When that infernal made him eat dirt he didn't even pass out or hurl."

Horace laughed at that, taking another sip of juice. "I just did what I was trained to do."

"But it was so cool!" Natalie leaned forward in the plush armchair she had been relaxing in. "For a moment there it looked like you sprouted wings. Gave me chills."

Though he was blushing again, he enjoyed the compliments and the enthusiasm. Natalie was recounting the event in the same way he described the skill of his superiors in letters home to his family. It had his chest swelling with pride, and for the rest of their time together he felt as if he was floating on a cloud.

His sisters wasted no time asking him how it went, what the King was like, how fancy the keep was. "Was he cute?" Izzy asked, causing Maggie to waggle her eyebrows suggestively.

He mussed her hair. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" At the entrance to the Cathedral, Sir Arthur appeared, summoning him with a wave of his hand. Horace stood up, throwing, "For the record, he was gorgeous," over his shoulder as he jogged over him.

After exchanging salutes, his mentor said, "We have been summoned to Light's Hope Chapel. Make preparations, we need to leave by week's end."

Horace's eyebrows shot up. "I-I thought that paladins were needed for Stormwind's defense."

"Yes, but we are not those paladins." The knight sighed. "I understand that leaving your family is difficult. Rest assured, they are safe here, and you will still be able to write them."

"Thank you sir. I'll inform them, by your leave."

"Very well. Dismissed."

His mother hugged him as tightly as she could, kissing his temples while his father and sisters embraced them both. "I'm glad we at least get some time with you," Emma rasped, tears slipping down her face. "It's still hard to hear that my baby's going into danger."

Horace put on his most reassuring face. "Don't worry about me. Squires aren't assigned to much. And I promise, I'll keep you updated on everything that's going on."

Emma ran her thumbs back and forth across his cheeks. "You grew up too fast." There was a bittersweet gleam in her eyes that lingered for a few more moments. Then she mussed his hair and declared, "Well, let's make this week a good one," and that usual smile was back, like it had never left.


	3. Phat Loots and a Pink Slip

Saskia was adamant about not attending church. Which wasn't unusual, only this time Anduin had personally asked if she would attend, and she turned him down flat. "I, uh… got stuff to do," was all the excuse she'd given before strolling casually away. It made all three of them very suspicious. She'd vanished without a trace after that, leaving Darcy to snooze by the lake.

"Honestly, as long as it's not illegal, I'm fine with whatever she's up to," Natalie remarked. "She's been really good lately about not getting into shady deals, but..."

"Don't worry," Anduin assured her, "when she agreed to work for me I snuck it into her contract."

That had been a week and a half ago. Natalie appeared increasingly worried as the days wore on, tension clear in her tight-knit brows. There was a moment where she began to wonder if her girlfriend was in danger, and she voiced her concerns to Horace. "She's never been gone this long, and she _always_ tells me what she's up to. How would we even fine her?" She paused. Suddenly, she gasped and her eyebrows shot up. "What if she's working for Gallywix again!? I can't possibly imagine why… maybe she's trying to kill him now? _Ugh_ , why does she have to be so stressful!?"

Horace put his hands up placatingly. "Nat, I'm sure she's fine. Saskia's a tough cookie, and resourceful."

"Don't forget sexy."

The two turned around to see the redhead rogue standing behind them, hands on the hilts of her daggers and a grin tugging at her lips. It took a few moments for Horace to notice that those were new weapons she had strapped to her belt. Something about them sent shivers up his spine. He eyed them warily.

Saskia took Natalie's hands in her own and kissed her. "Babe, I'm so sorry I made you upset. I got permission to tell you where I've been, though, and I promise, it's gonna knock your socks off." Her eyes were glittering with excitement the whole time she spoke.

At her request, they went to a quiet corner of the Blue Recluse, in the Mage Quarter. It was a the table under the stairs that she pulled out a foreign insignia and placed it between the trio. "I'm part of this group now-the Uncrowned-and they made me one of their heads! All that smuggling and Blacktalon work's paid off, because I guess they've been watching me for a while now." Unbuckling one of her daggers, she set it next to the insignia and unsheathed it half-way. "They helped me liberate these puppies from Dread Captain Eliza. So, that's where I've been lately. I was under strict orders to keep things on the down-low, but now that I'm a Shadow I can pick and chose who knows what."

Natalie snorted. "They seriously call themselves the 'Uncrowned?'"

"Yeah, it does kinda sound pretentious, but don't let them know I told you that." Saskia stashed the goods, and her face grew serious as she added, "Anduin really can't know about this. I mean _really_ can't."

"Why not?" Horace asked. Didn't Saskia technically work for the king?

"All I can say is: he doesn't need to be involved."

Suspicious, but he doubted any more information could be wrung out of her. In all honesty, he didn't have a vast amount of interest in all the shenanigans Saskia managed to get mixed up in. He had plenty of other things to worry about, namely his departure to Light's Hope Chapel today. It would be the farthest he'd ever been from home. The move from Westfall to Stormwind had been daunting enough; now he was going all the way to the other side of the continent to help fight a demon army threatening to destroy the world. No pressure!

The last thing presented to the two of them was a hearthstone. "Now, you guys can just call me Greatfather Winter, because I've got some presents waiting for you guys in a top-secret location." Against all probable odds, Saskia actually managed to look even more smug as she leaned back in her chair, arms folded across her chest.

"Define 'presents,'" Natalie implored, sipping a glass of moonberry juice. She was definitely more on board with this new direction than Horace was.

"Whatever you want to take from my weapons and armor cache."

The mage almost choked on her drink. She quirked an eyebrow as she wiped her chin. "What gives? You wouldn't even let your own mother see that cache before."

"I worked out a deal with some people to get the stuff out of my hair," she explained. "Figured you should have first dibs, though, for being so understanding."

Feigning shock, Natalie proclaimed, "Well, I never! You are simply spoiling me, Madame Rastout!"

"All for you, my sweet." The rogue took her hand from across the table and kissed it.

Never in his life had Horace felt more flustered than around those two lovebirds carrying on as if no one else was with them. After a few more moments of their sweet nothings, he cleared his throat. "So, where is this place?"

Saskia shook her head. "Afraid I can't tell you; you'll just have to trust me."

Roughly an hour later, with breastplate on and sword and shield at the ready, Horace was wondering if maybe he should start giving Saskia a little more credit. This was mostly due to the fact that the trio was standing in freaking _Ulduar_ , _the titan-forged city of myth and legend_ , staring at piles and piles of gleaming loot. So much loot that they could barely walk without stepping on something.

He was frozen in place, transfixed by it all. There was easily a million gold sitting in this room, he was sure of it, and yet they were the only people who knew it was there.

Off to the side, something caught his eye. Half of it was mounted on an armor rack, the other half stacked on the floor, each piece a deep olivine laced with gold filigree. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was made to fit a humanoid roughly his size. Each piece resonated some long-forgotten secret of whomever had crafted it. Probably a titan construct; he had never seen anything of the same caliber. His father would love to see a pattern for this, or even be able to study it and create a pattern based on what he discovered. Horace had learned quite a bit about blacksmithing from him, and honestly would leap at the chance to do the same.

"Like it?" Saskia's voice startled him out of his reverence, and he turned his head to see her standing beside him. She jutted her chin at the gear. "Go ahead, see if it fits."

Though he was hesitant of his worthiness to wear such a masterpiece, he was also excited at the prospect of charging into battle in something so unique. Absently, he wondered what Sir Arthur would think of him showing up in the paladin barracks wearing it. He'd probably get a knock on the head and admonished for leaving without permission again. Honestly, though, if he got to wear something like _this?_ Worth it.

Every single piece of it fit like a glove. Horace chocked it up to titan magic and didn't question it too much, instead choosing to be impressed. Looking down at himself, he admired how it did away with all the contours of his body, turning him into a flat-chested, streamlined paladin ready for action.

Saskia's eyes darted up and down as she took stock of him. "Snazzy. You should take it."

Despite himself, his eyebrows shot up questioningly. "Are you sure?" The armor set seemed way too rare and expensive to just give away.

"Course I'm sure. Damn, you look impervious. Demons'll see you and cower." Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she turned to Natalie, who was sorting through various trinkets. "What do you think?"

Before the mage could answer, the room began to tremble. A loud rumbling echoed just outside, green wisps of smoke filtering in under the door. "Yikes, I think that's our cue to leave," Saskia announced.

"I'll do the honors. Hold onto your hats!" With some fancy twisting of Natalie's fingers, a burst of arcane energy erupted around the trio. Horace barely had time to snatch up his sword and shield, along with his new helm, before he was enveloped in bright light. The next thing he knew, he was standing inside the Mage Tower, feeling very dizzy. More arcane magic washed over him, and his symptoms vanished.

"Sorry," Natalie said, "I know it takes some getting used to."

He gave her a thumbs up and a smile in thanks. After some fiddling with the buckles while they walked, he managed to get his sword belted to his hips and his shield strapped on his back.

Sir Arthur took one look at him and said, "You have generous friends."

"What can I say? I like it when my friends are alive," Saskia shrugged.

That made the paladin chuckle. His expression soon grew somber, however. "We are due at Light's Hope Chapel soon. Best pack your things and say your goodbyes."

A weight settled uncomfortably in Horace's stomach. This was it, then. "Yes, sir." He saluted, and headed up the steps of the cathedral at his mentor's leave.

There wasn't a whole lot to pack: his binder, his journal, a copy of compiled holy texts, and a small picture of his family. Emma Lin was fighting back tears as she embraced him tightly, and as he hugged her back, he could feel her shoulders shaking. "I'll be alright, mother, I promise," he soothed. "And I'll write home whenever I'm able." He gave her a kiss on the forehead, then moved to his sisters.

"Try not to start anything while I'm gone, yeah?" Both of them gave no promises.

Lastly, to his father, he said, "Thank you, for everything you've taught me. I wouldn't be here otherwise." His father was smiling sadly as they embraced, eyes red-rimmed.

Every Lin was crying, some more openly than others, except for him, so he joined the other paladins before he could start, backpack with all his things slung over his shoulder as he followed Sir Arthur through the portal with one last, longing look at the city, and the life, he would be leaving behind.

Light's Hope Chapel was… small. And not very populated, considering that all of Azeroth's paladins were supposed to be congregating here. Maybe they were just early? Looking around, Horace saw about twenty people in total, mostly guards. Could everyone be behind the chapel? No, there didn't seem to be anyone, except for the ones in the ground, at least.

Inside the little building were a few more people. Horace immediately recognized their tabards: these were the Knights of the Silver Hand. A chill went up his spine. He'd only read of the order in books; now he was seeing them in person. Had he been younger and the circumstances less grim, he would have been stupid enough to ask for an autograph.

Sir Arthur stopped a bit past the threshold, a spark of Light shooting from his gauntleted hand to the floor. There was a rumble, the grating of stone on stone, and then a large section dropped away to reveal a flight of stairs. Without hesitation, the paladin strode down the steps, his squire a little intimidated but not far behind. Guards were stationed at the bottom, clad in Silver Hand regalia as well.

Seeing what stretched out before him stuck Horace speechless. In the Scourge War, Arthas and his knights had attacked the humble little chapel above their heads. This, he now realized, was what they had been after.

A grand cathedral cut deep into the mountain, a bastion of faith. Horace could feel the sheer power of the Light here, practically see it shimmering in the air. All around him were the Light's defenders; he easily recognized many of Stormwind's human paladins. The Exodar's draenei and Ironforge's dwarves maintained a presence here as well, talking with Alliance and Horde alike. Tauren towered over the rest, hammers and Light-blessed totems held firm in their hands. The Forsaken made him more uneasy than he wanted to admit, probably because he had never actually seen one before. Was there ever such a thing as a bad-looking elf? He severely doubted it.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw Lord Shadowbreaker instructing a group of squires. Was the commander still mad at him for his outburst? There was a small hope that he wasn't, but then again, this was Lord Shadowbreaker and the man was not known for lenience. Horace made a point of avoiding eye contact, just in case. As he passed by, he heard the man bark a particularly colorful bit of "encouragement" to a young woman. _Yikes_. Granted, the military _was_ designed to break people down and build them back up into competent soldiers, but that didn't mean anyone should be called "worthless canon fodder." It made him very grateful that he had been placed under Sir Arthur's tutelage instead.

Speak of the devil, he was currently about ten paces ahead. Horace ran to catch up, glad that the noise of combat disguised the clanking of his armor. It was a really nice set of armor, and he really owed Saskia a favor for giving it to him, but, as a lowly squire, he did feel somewhat out of place wearing it.

Once they entered the cathedral proper, a profound silence greeted them, so oppressive that a pin dropping would have echoed the same as a shield. Every pew was fit to burst with people come to mourn.

Horace, in his short eighteen years, had never been to a funeral. He had one grandmother currently, the rest of his grandparents having passed away before he was born. The etiquette aspect he was familiar with, however; head bowed, silent, somber.

Sir Arthur kept his voice low as they settled into the pews and began reciting prayers. Once finished, he leaned over to his squire, whispering, "Fair warning; Lord Shadowbreaker wishes to speak with us afterwards."

Eating breakfast suddenly became a bad decision. Swallowing hard, he nodded. _Deep breaths. What's the worst that can happen?_

"You have disgraced the paladin order."

Torn between crying, throwing up, and curling up on the floor to await death, Horace stood in front of the Commander in horrified silence with only his eyes betraying his emotions. Next to him, Sir Arthur was also in a textbook attention stance, stare fixed straight ahead rather than at the furious paladin.

"There is no part of your actions that can be excused."

Light, he really shouldn't have jinxed it. " _What's the worst that can happen?"_ his ass.

"Sir Arthur, I would suggest looking for a new squire."

 _There's nothing to keep you from passing out right now,_ his brain said. _Just close your eyes and let it happen._

 _Fuck off, brain,_ he replied.

"You will turn in your squire's colors immediately, and you will not seek a position amongst us again. The Light does not need reckless fools rushing to their deaths against the Legion, it needs people willing to obey orders and fight as one."

He desperately wanted to look to his mentor now, to see if the paladin he'd spent so long admiring would defend him.

He didn't.

Even after they were dismissed, Horace refused to let himself cry. Men didn't cry; neither would he.

Sir Arthur placed both hands on his shoulders, and he was too numb to shrug them off. "You have been the greatest squire I ever could have asked for. Had things been different… well, I had always been certain you would have ascended through the ranks faster than any of your peers."

 _Former peers_. Meeting his gaze, he snapped into one final salute. "Thank you, sir." His voice was raw. Removing his colors from his armor, he placed them into Sir Arthur's hands.

There was a portal open to Stormwind for those needing quick transportation to and from the city. Since he didn't have the money to travel via gryphon or even merchant's caravan, this was the best option. He slipped through while the guards weren't paying attention, this time prepared for that gut-twisting sensation that came with arcane travel.

Natalie and Saskia were enjoying some time in the sunshine that warmed the newly-rebuilt park when he found them. The mage was the first to notice him, sitting up when she saw the stagger in his step, the way he held his helmet limply in one hand.

"Woah, Horace," she said as he sat down with a heavy thud behind the two. "What happened? Where's Sir Arthur?"

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He was a failure, a disgraced ex-paladin too tunnel-visioned to see the bigger picture. Mostly, however, he was angry with himself, and hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked out the story.

There was a pause once he finished, then two pairs of arms wrapped themselves around him as he shook and sobbed. Real men didn't cry, but at the moment, he didn't really feel like a real anything, so maybe it was okay.


End file.
